


wait for me in the sky

by Siguna



Category: One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depressed Zayn, Established Relationship, Harry's hair, M/M, Zayn leaving, idk y'all, just kind of my interpretation of what sort of maybe is/was the situation, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siguna/pseuds/Siguna
Summary: It goes and it's golden, like sands of timeI hope and I hope you'll still be fineI know that it's bright, look through the light and seeIt's meant to beEvery single jigsaw piece seems to be incompleteThe choices we make change the path that we take, but I knowThat somewhere out there there's a path that we choseThere's a life that we share, there's a love and it grows—Golden, Zayn (released 2016)Golden, golden, golden as I open my eyesHold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the lightI know you were way too bright for meI'm hopeless, broken, so you wait for me in the skyBrown my skin just rightYou're so goldenI'm out of my head, and I know that you're scaredBecause hearts get brokenI know that you're scared because I'm so open—Golden, Harry Styles (released 2019)
Relationships: Zarry, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	wait for me in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> [revives AO3 account 6 years later for a fandom that's so 6 years ago] what's happening? 
> 
> don't ask me why these dudes and their music are suddenly on my radar after always having been oblivious to 1D; but I fell into a rabbit hole and had to get this off my chest 
> 
> the title obviously is taken from Harry's _Golden_ , but I just want to point out, in addition to how ridiculously the lyrics from both songs match each other, the parallel between "wait for me in the sky" and Zayn's 2018 album being _Icarus Falls_ i.e. Icarus flying into the sky... to the light/bright/golden sun... GOD shut up

Harry, loose and laughing, shirt buttoned halfway up and tossing that impossible head of hair in the stadium lights, belts his heart out into his mic and looks at Zayn — slight frame lost in his loose tee, tucked into himself on the other end of the stage. “It’s you, it’s you they add up to…”

Zayn only tips his chin forward a little, lips firm but eyes glinting back at Harry from behind his dark rush of hair. He licks his lips and finds his place in the song as they close it out. 

Harry drapes onto him from behind as they head into the cars later, soft and buzzing, on a high from the show. For Zayn it’s something more like depletion. His fingers find Harry’s as they duck into their seats, sinking tiredly into him as the doors shut. Harry’s face sweeps into that slow, easy smile. He hums contentedly, hands in Zayn’s hair, through the ride home — whatever home means when you live between a tour bus and hotel rooms. The latter, tonight, and they’re glad, when they’re in Zayn’s room later, for the rare gasp of privacy. 

Zayn wants to sleep, but also to lay just like this, wrapped up in Harry, buried in those curls. Harry mumbles things to him and Zayn makes soft noises back. 

The gentle quietness of these moments, always stolen, is what he grasps at, when everything is too fast and the pressure is beating in his head. 

The first time he collapses after a show he tells the boys it’s fine, once he comes to, and doesn’t look at Harry. Harry finds him some water and stays quiet. 

He brings it up later, in the latest stolen hideaway and snatch of time in the endless string of them in which this relationship has fought for air. Zayn doesn’t brush so much as shrug it off, because he has no other answer. 

They’ve talked about slowing things down with the band, but there never seems to be a good time. Even now, as they wrap this tour up they’re gearing up to lay down the next record, one he can muster no excitement for and finds none of himself in. 

At least here, now, if only for a short while they can be slow and easy, as Harry leans in to calm him with a kiss, because it’s easier than trying to wade into how much this is all crushing Zayn, as much as he tries to hang on. Because Harry, bright and open, is made for this — the crowds, the massive stadiums, the crazy. Where Zayn is overwhelmed with the intense insanity Harry thrives, alive with the energy and feeding off of it. 

Zayn sighs now into Harry’s as ever exposed chest, shaking his head fondly at this boy’s aversion to buttons, and trying just to see through the fog in his own head.

His unease ebbs and simmers in turn, good days and bad. Powering through the shows is getting exceedingly difficult; he is numb onstage, going through the motions and finding some reprieve only in the slower songs, when the screams calm down and Harry’s pointed singing reaches out to him through the haze. 

But the strain is wedging between them in this pressure cooker they are stuck in, with the band, the team, the label, the handlers, the hands on him and the stares, the whispers, Liam’s idiotically loose tongue. He doesn’t eat. They never do get much sleep. He feels ready to shatter at any moment.

In the quiet and sweetness when they’re alone it almost feels okay, like he can hang on, just a little bit longer. He holds himself still in that rare stillness and Harry’s arms, like it will keep him from crumbling apart. 

But when they talk about it, or try, it’s a mess, Harry roiling while Zayn boils, each one angry in turn, hurling words back and forth, breaking down. Then cooling off and coming back up, but losing patience and the plot a little more each time. 

When Zayn leaves, it’s abrupt. 

Yet he knows some part of Harry can’t be surprised. He puts it all from his mind, sinking into blissful obscurity, sleep and his mother’s cooking at home. He feels whole for the first time in forever, awake for the first time in forever, a heaviness lifted from his chest and mind, finally clear.

It’s strange, eventually, finally, to be working on music again, alone, but liberated and liberating, his way and his sound. Pouring himself into it, the years of music already written and bubbling inside from his time in the band, never allowed to come out before now, letting everything he’s pulsated with, the turmoil, the light and dark, the memory of a sweet and chaotic bright-eyed love, seep and shape into the music. 

It’s stranger still when Harry’s solo career follows Zayn’s, once the band’s numbered days finally let up. All heart and flamboyance, brimming with Harry’s spirit and showmanship unleashed to its full potential; in stark contrast to Zayn’s music of lush, lilting passion and moodiness that he periodically releases then retreats, stage anxieties still haunting him.

They haven’t seen each other in years, dormant tensions and apologies left too long unsaid walled between them. But it’s a strange dance they’re unspokenly doing from afar, while stumbling through new on and off relationships, in lyrics, whole songs and covers; throwing this thing between them back and forth, reaching out the only way they know how anymore, the way it all began — singing at each other, just from thousands of miles apart.


End file.
